


A Song, Incomplete

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Aurors, Break Up, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Friendship, Lawyers, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Hogwarts, Press and Tabloids, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Wandless Magic, Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco’s photograph took up the entire top half of the Prophet’s front page. Below the photo: <i>DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS SON OF FORMER LOVER.</i> As if that were breaking news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song, Incomplete

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pir8fancier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8fancier/gifts).



> **Warning:** past Harry/Ginny and past Draco/Astoria implied.
> 
> **ETA:** I am so proud and honored to announce that this story tied for second place at the hpfanficfanpoll's Fall-Winter 2013 round: Draco/Harry! 
> 
> GORGEOUS ARTWORK by [raitala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raitala/pseuds/raitala): [**Draco's front page photo**](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/234747.html?thread=17230331#t17230331)
> 
> Written for the 2012 round of [H/D Holidays](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/). Thank you very much to [snottygrrl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snottygrrl/pseuds/snottygrrl) and [coffeejunkii](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii) for betaing!

The hostess led Harry through the front lounge toward the area off the main dining room, full of little niches where the more private customers took their meals. It wasn’t something he’d requested, but he was grateful for the consideration. When Harry got within sight of the table, however, he slowed. The hostess continued without him and Harry resumed his pace, excusing himself to a waiter who was levitating a full tray of food.

The hostess laid down a menu and asked if he’d like her to take his coat. Harry declined. He ordered a cider and took his time removing the garment in question until she’d departed. Then he returned his eyes to the person sitting across from him.

Draco Malfoy’s posture was straight-backed without being rigid, one leg crossed over the other so that he faced slightly away from the table. He wore slick and shiny black, a high collar that opened at his throat and tapered down to a vest over charcoal grey shirt. The sleeves splayed wide over each hand, revealing the inside of his wrist where he fingered the stem of his wine glass. His hair was smoothed back and drawn away from his face by a black ribbon. He looked up at Harry without avoidance, a faint smile on his lips. 

It explained the out of the way seating arrangements. Harry settled his coat over the back of his chair, noting that Draco had done the same with his cloak. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Draco inclined his head. “I saw the case request and made an executive decision.” He gestured at the opposite side of the table. “Have a seat.”

Harry did, pulling his chair in close to the table and pressing his palms flat against the surface. When he looked up, Draco was watching him.

“I assume you already know details you probably shouldn’t,” Harry said.

The smile was there again and gone in an instant. “I heard about the incident.”

“Incident,” Harry sighed. “Putting it mildly.”

Draco’s brow was lined, his eyes intent. He leaned forward until his elbows rested on the tabletop. “Tell me what happened.”

Harry pursed his lips. “James should be here to give you details. And he will, only they’ve got him filling out paperwork.”

“Of course they do.” Draco sounded resigned. But he was still looking Harry in the eye. “I’ll make sure to pay him a visit in the office tomorrow. But you, Harry. I know you’ll be particularly detailed, so?”

Everything about it, from tone to minor gesture, was inviting. Hands open. Harry exhaled forcefully and shook his head. Smirked fondly at Draco. “Witch married to a Muggle in the know. They had a noisy domestic dispute, and the neighbours Flooed in the Aurors. Not the first time it had happened, but I guess up until then the wife had managed to keep magic out of it. Her anger got the better of her this time.”

Draco straightened. “She’s an emotive then? Like you.”

“Just like me.” His smile felt a little stretched. “Anyway, she fired a level three neurological hex at her husband. James threw up a shield because the man’s a Muggle, has no means of deflecting something like that—”

“Indeed.”

“And the magic rebounded, went through the wall into the next apartment and hit one of the tenants. They’re filing suit, trying to get James for negligence and irresponsible spell usage.”

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake.” Draco pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Naturally, I’m not allowed on the board of inquiry. As Deputy Head of the Department, Ron should take my place, but…”

Draco nodded.

Harry went on. “The Minister has appointed Morag MacDougal from the Department of Mysteries.”

“Good.” Draco nodded again. “Ravenclaw. She’ll be fair. And open minded.”

Harry resisted the urge to rub his face. It had become second nature this week. “He didn’t have time to _think_ of anything else. He just did what he was supposed to do, and now they’re trying to take his job over it. Or split department sentiments in time for annual reappointments. James doesn’t have the money to pay reparations. I’d do it in a second, but personally… I don’t think this should even be up for judgment.”

“You’d be right.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Might want to look at the reports first.”

Draco sniffed. “I should think you already have.”

After a moment, Harry nodded. His eyes dropped to Draco’s hand, still touching his wine flute. He didn’t drink, just played with the stem, a steady twist with thumb and forefinger. Draco still liked to have the wine there sometimes, apparently: normality in a fogged crystal glass. 

With some effort, he forced his attention off of Draco’s hand. “So. I’ll get you complete access to the reports, everything you need. It’s all already documented, and most of the Aurors want to help James out here if they can.”

“Is there opposing council?”

“No, they’re going through the Wizengamot.”

“Oh.” Draco’s expression shifted into disdain. He drew back, aimed a sardonic smirk at the table. “ _That’s_ lovely.”

Nerves twitched. “Problem?”

Draco shook his head. His lips curved in a gentler fashion. “Just a different approach. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

Harry let himself return the smile, and for a moment, they just sat, gazing across the table in silence while the restaurant’s other patrons clicked and clinked in the next room. 

Finally Harry pulled back, breaking the lazy thread forming between them. He felt rather than saw Draco shift in his chair.

“How’s James, then?”

“He’s handling it. Not as well as I’d like, but…” Harry shrugged. Even the thought of it was wearying. “As long as I can keep the press off of him—” He cleared his throat into the new silence. “Look. I appreciate you doing this. Especially on short notice.”

Draco made an amused sound. “You know I live for this sort of dispute.”

“Yes, I do.” He frowned at his cutlery, thinking of his son’s wan face. “Draco, whatever your retainer is, it’s not an issue. Just give me the numbers as soon as you have them.”

Draco eyed him for a lengthy moment, then left off with his wine flute and folded his hands before him. “What say I do this one pro bono?”

Harry searched his face, the expressive eyes and slender brows, the sedate set of his mouth. He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Draco.”

This time Draco’s smile was fragile, almost sad. “Then let _me_ do it, Harry. Because I’d like to.”

Even now, after all this time, Harry knew he could argue it, hold his ground and get his way, and Draco would give it to him. But a much larger part of Harry understood— still— the lack of necessity for it, that old and instinctive give and sway, and the rest of him retracted quietly.

“Thank you.”

Draco’s gaze tripped down over his face and back up. “It’s my pleasure.”

He could have let it lie, but… Harry drew a breath. “No. Really, Draco. Thank you for… for this.”

_For everything. In spite of everything._

There was nothing but a wistful warmth in Draco’s face. “My pleasure, Harry,” he repeated softly.

**

“In the case of Julianne Forester versus James Sirius Potter, the defense is allowed to enter a plea on behalf of the accused.”

Draco stood. He was alone at the front of the room— there was no need for either James or Julianne Forester to be present at a pre-trial hearing. “Interrogators and Elders of the Wizengamot, the defense moves to strike James Potter’s name from the suit, in light of the fact that his documented actions are well within Ministry protocol. Thus, he cannot be tried under our laws as individually culpable for the events in question.”

Up in the gallery, members of the Wizengamot bent their heads together in quiet discussion. Harry saw a few impressed smirks. But Morag MacDougal lifted her hand for silence and peered down at Draco. “It has yet to be proven to this court that his actions were within Ministry protocol, Councillor Malfoy.”

Draco held up a thick roll of parchment tied with standard dark twine and stamped with a Ministry seal. “Madam Chief, I have here signed affidavits from all Aurors present, the Magical Forensics Investigatory Team assigned to the case, and Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, acting as Head Auror for the purposes of this dispute, that all magic utilized was within acceptable allowances for Aurors facing a life-threatening situation in the field. I submit them to the Wizengamot in lieu of direct testimony.”

Morag took the parchments, unrolled them, and read for several moments before passing them to the wizard on her left. He read as well, and nodded. Morag took up her gavel. “Motion is sanctioned, with reservation: James Sirius Potter’s name to be removed from the suit as primary defendant only. This trial will commence in one week today with opening arguments from the defense on behalf of James Sirius Potter as an employee of the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement.” 

“That’s smart,” Hermione whispered at Harry’s side. “If James was acting under Ministry jurisdiction and within the limitations of current law enforcement standards, the Foresters would have to go after the Auror Department as a whole, which is a much bigger fish. The Wizengamot will be forced to focus the scope of the case, or else commit to investigating the entirety of Auror protocol, which they’ll never risk, not over something so isolated. And this way, Draco’s already proven James was acting in accordance with training he received.”

Harry watched Draco gathering his stack of notes with unhurried motions. “Of course he has,” he said softly.

He could feel Hermione’s eyes on him, but blessedly, she didn’t say anything more.

** 

The Prophet’s first headline was surprising, and hurtful.

_WIZARDING SAVIOUR TAKES UP WITH FORMER DEATH EATER YET AGAIN?_

The article didn’t even pretend to be about James’ case, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was worse. He pushed his mug of tea away and sank back into his chair. The clock over the kitchen doorway ticked, enunciating the emptiness of the house. The wireless, even quicker to the draw, had remained silent for the past day.

An old weight settled surely over Harry’s shoulders. The last time he’d felt it was six years ago, and he hadn’t forgotten one iota of the sensation.

On the way into the Ministry, Harry eyed Witch Weekly’s display, and though the headline mentioned James’ trouble in passing, there was nothing forgiving about it, the true focus as suggestive as it was misguided. 

He bought a Quibbler, where the headline noted that the Ministry was conducting investigations into the circumstances of a recent Auror intervention. There was no mention of Harry outside of his Head Auror status, or Draco except as lead council for the Auror under investigation, and prominent Wizarding solicitor.

But then, that wasn’t a surprise: Scorpius Malfoy had been editor-in-chief of Luna’s paper for four years.

** 

“The director of Accidents and Catastrophes Flooed over lunch,” Tamlyn said, following Harry through the office into the hall. “He asked you to Floo him back, but said it wasn’t urgent. You’re scheduled to meet with Minister Shacklebolt at half three today, and Auror Dell asked if we can move employee evals to tomorrow instead of Saturday.”

Harry took the notes she held out, looked them over, and nodded. “Alright. Tell Dell I can meet her after ten in the morning, and ask if she can come to my office instead. Tomorrow’s going to be tight. Tam, are you able to stay late at all this evening?”

“I could do, yeah.” She didn’t mention the case, but Harry knew she understood.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it.” He gave her a tired smile. “We need to compile some more files. I promise I won’t keep you too long.”

Tamlyn nodded and went back to her desk. Harry continued down the hall past filing and on toward the junior offices. James’ door was slightly ajar, the light over the nearest desk off— Diana McCarthy, with whom he shared the office, was probably still at lunch— but Harry could sense movement within. His son had stopped going out during breaks for fear of being accosted while buying a sandwich down the road. It made Harry want to hit someone.

His hand was raised to push the door open when he realized that James was not alone. Harry paused.

“…not as dark as it seems, and you’ll have to trust me on that.”

James didn’t answer. Harry looked in through the open door and saw him nodding. Draco sat on the same side of the desk, one elbow braced on top and his chin resting against his knuckles.

“You did everything right, James,” Draco continued after a moment. “Exactly what you were supposed to do.”

James sighed, sat up a little. “I know that. I just… you know. Have to keep convincing myself.”

“Have you spoken to your father about this?”

Harry’s son nodded. “Yes. And he’s, he said the same thing. Sometimes I just think, if I’d done _one_ thing differently, maybe…”

Silence fell save for the harried tapping of James’ fingers against the desktop. Draco reached forward and covered James’s hand with his own. It was a careful touch, one that withdrew when James stilled.

“You’re going to question yourself,” Draco murmured. “We all do. We all have.”

There was years-old sadness in Draco’s face that Harry had to look away from. 

“Just remember that what your father has told you, and what you yourself know, James… That’s the truth. You did right. Things just don’t always go the way we’d like, even then.”

It wasn’t a question of legality, just the knowledge that there were some things Harry shouldn’t overhear. He stepped away from the door before James could respond and headed for his office again. 

On his way back, he passed Robert Saville’s desk. The Auror in charge of the training division tracked him pointedly, quill tapping at his desktop, but Harry was in no mood for what he was sure would take place, and kept his eyes on his own office door.

**

The first day of trial was short, with an injunction for the Foresters to present all applicable medical records from St Mungo’s, and for Draco to provide testimony of a professional with specialization in hexes. Regardless of the brevity, James looked pale in his seat, dressed in his best work robes. Lily sat beside Harry and Hermione, Ginny a few rows back with Ron, having arrived later. Hugo and Rose were there, as were several of James’ colleagues not involved in the investigation, Charlie Weasley, and Fleur with two of her children. The show of support was daunting, even to Harry, who was a part of it. 

Albus was even there, standing well in the back. 

Up in the press box, Scorpius Malfoy’s eyes flicked up and down from the proceedings to the notepad in his lap. There were other reporters present, but none of them were Rita Skeeter.

Not that the fact would stop her from publishing an article.

When Morag banged down her marble gavel to halt the proceedings for the day, Albus turned off the wall where he leaned and exited the courtroom before anyone else. 

“While I’m glad for this move toward unbiased proceedings,” Ginny said caustically once they were out in the hall, “I’d feel better with you in Morag’s seat.” She frowned at several Wizengamot witches chattering down the hall.

Harry sighed, glancing up just as Draco exited the courtroom and headed down the corridor away from them, reporters following in his wake. “Better if I’m not involved, at this point.”

Ginny’s mouth did a funny thing, almost a purse, almost a pucker. After a second, she gave Harry a smile. “You’re alright tonight? Mum wants to send over dinner.”

“Don’t know if I could eat it, actually, but… sure. Tell her thanks.”

“I will.” His ex-wife squeezed his arm and leaned up to buss his cheek. “I’ve got to go. Meeting Al for lunch. I’ll tell him to stop by.”

They both knew the likelihood of that occurring, but Harry smiled back. “Yeah.”

“Don’t you torture yourself over this,” she chided, studying his face. “Need you healthy. For James.”

“I won’t.”

She turned, got one step, then came back and pressed him close. “Thank you,” she whispered quickly into his ear. “For, you know. Getting him.”

It wasn’t every day that Ginny brought up Draco. “Cheers, Gin.”

**

“They might go after him for culpability in spite of protocol.”

Harry looked up, squinting his eyes at the unexpected darkness of his office. It was late, the department empty, and Draco leaned in his doorway like he’d always been there. He had no cloak, no outer jacket, just the tailored black vest over a white shirt with shining buttons, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His collar was open, the tie that had resided there in court this morning missing.

“Would they have grounds?”

Draco shrugged. Folded his arms. “Depends on the Wizengamot.”

He looked tired. His face was a little more shadowed, but still put together, his receding hairline and the lines around his mouth adding to his composure and the natural elegance in the way he carried himself. Like a fine wine, Harry found himself thinking, and rubbed his forehead. 

Gestured. “Come in, sit down.”

Draco entered the office and drew the chair away from the desk’s opposite end. He sank into it with an audible sigh. “If they think he was duty bound to respond differently in terms of right action, defending the populace, as it were, then yes, they may have an argument. Of course, I’ve got a counterargument, so.”

Harry eyed him. “And what does James think?”

“He thinks he could have used an absorption spell.”

“Damn it—” This time Harry scrubbed at his eyes, at the headache slipping in behind them. “ _No,_ he could not. They take too long to cast.”

“Except with very skilled practitioners.”

“Draco—”

But Draco held up a hand. “Which I intend to prove is not the case with James. He’s good, but he’s not that good. I only know one person who could have cast such a thing in time to save that man.”

Harry met his gaze, found Draco watching him. There was no tension at all in his eyes, despite the general strain to his frame. He looked calm. At peace. 

“How are you?” Harry asked, low.

Draco made a soft sound. His eyes dropped to the desk at last and a faint crease came into his brow. “Coping.” The flash of a smile. “You know me. I’m adaptable.”

“But you’ve been harassed. By the press.”

Delicate eyebrows went up, but Draco was still looking at the desk. “Surprisingly, no. Just the idiots. The rest won’t tangle with Scorpius, or else are well aware they’ll get nothing from me about the case.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

When Draco looked up, something restless skittered through his eyes. He opened his mouth, and Harry saw his hands press lightly to the desktop. Steadying. 

In the end, Draco just shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.”

Harry didn’t say anything, though he could see the newest headlines bright as day in his mind. 

Suddenly Draco leaned forward, stretched a hand out and touched Harry’s where it lay on the desk. “I’m glad to do it, Harry.”

Harry thought about turning his hand over, meeting Draco’s palm, but by then Draco had drawn away, subsided back into his chair. After another moment, he rose. Harry watched him smooth down his vest, press his hands to the pockets of his trousers. Draco looked up, a new smile in place. 

“I should let you finish what you’re working on. Get you home before midnight.” He tapped the back of the chair with his fingertips, just once, nodded, and moved toward the door.

“Draco,” Harry said, and Draco stopped. Harry wasn’t sure what his own expression was, but something about Draco’s slackened as he looked at Harry. “Thanks for this. For coming here tonight.”

Draco gazed at him a moment longer, unreadable again. “You’re very welcome.” He lifted a hand in farewell, and left the office.

Harry stared at the empty doorway for a long while, then gritted his teeth, picked up a quill and grabbed a piece of fresh parchment.

**

_…and in a surprise statement, the famed defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named gives us an unprecedented view of his personal life. Head Auror for eight years and counting, Harry Potter is under scrutiny again in connection to the recent suit filed against son and fellow Auror James Sirius Potter. Regarding recent rumours concerning his choice to engage councillor Draco Malfoy to defend his son, Potter has this to say:_

_“Most of the attention being paid to this case, to me, is irrelevant. Right now, I’m not a saviour. I’m a father trying to help my child in the best way I can. Draco Malfoy is and always will be a superb councillor. More importantly, he is a friend, and he is one of the best people I know.”_

**

“Why are you doing this?”

Harry slowly put down his book on the couch, careful to keep his place. He raised his eyes to those of his younger son, who was stood in the middle of the sitting room. He still had his coat on, his umbrella in hand, but at least he’d closed the front door behind him. 

Slammed it, in fact.

“Albus, I’d appreciate a knock before you march into my house.”

Albus’s nostrils flared. He cut a hand through the air in front of him dismissively. “Why are you putting Mum through this again? All of us.”

Harry exhaled. Looked longingly at the book he hadn’t been able to pay attention to anyway. “You want to sit down and ask your questions?”

“Not really,” Albus bit out.

“And what exactly is it I’m putting you through?”

“Oh, Godric Almighty, Dad! Your statement! What _exactly_ were you thinking you’d accomplish? Hell, at least you didn’t go through Scorpius to do it.”

Harry found himself squeezing the armrest and made his fingers relax. “Of course I didn’t,” he said slowly. It sounded very flat.

Albus’ eyes flicked over him. Taking stock, reassessing. But Harry had played the waiting game with his son before, and had got rather good at it.

“For someone who hates the press, you sure do invite it,” Albus finally said. “So. Why the hell are you doing this?”

Harry met his son’s eyes squarely. “Because I didn’t do it the first time, and I should have.” Oddly, even sitting down, he felt like the taller one, the one in power, and he could see Albus struggle against it.

“You don’t even care that Mum—”

“You know, your mother thanked me for engaging Draco.”

Albus’ jaw worked. But it wasn’t Draco, it had never been about Draco. Many other things, issues Harry had not taken the time to sort through in the first place, and now he suspected he’d suffer for it for years yet.

However. The opening gaped, and Harry spoke into it. “I did not do anything to any of you last time. The press did it to you. To all of us. To me especially, and to him, too. Did you think of that?”

“Of course I did,” Albus snapped. “Scorpius is my best friend.”

_And yet you barely speak to him anymore._ Harry felt too tired to thrust such a blow into the open. Not against his own son. He could see the desperation in Albus’ eyes, the same smoldering he’d seen for six years as his son’s closest friendship had fluctuated and waned. Now, though… it sounded as if Albus were trying to convince _himself_ there was still a friendship to fight for. And that hurt, in whole new ways.

Harry fought the wholly different pressure in his chest. He’d damaged so many things six years ago.

“I’m…” He struggled to find the real thread, the less painful one. “I’m not going to let them do it again. James has enough to worry about without—”

The mistake clicked too slowly, but Albus cut him off even as Harry winced.

“James. Never mind everyone else?”

Harry felt sucked dry. “Al, can’t I learn from it? I can’t change what happened, I can’t— redo any of— Godric.” He pressed fingers into his forehead, resisting the urge to stay there with his eyes covered and Albus on the other side of it all. “Is that it? I’m just supposed to sit here and let it happen all over again because James shouldn’t get special treatment?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Dad, this isn’t about special treatment! They’re, the press are all over it! Again! And you’re just feeding into it. They’re going to run you down and devour you, and cough it all back up in the ugliest way they know how, and you’re inviting it by even talking to them!”

“I’m done hiding!” Harry snapped. “Albus, I’m done! I did everything wrong before and _everyone_ I love got hurt, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Albus gritted out, but he didn’t, Harry could practically smell it.

“ _Listen_ to me,” he hissed, and Albus shut his mouth around some vitriolic burst. “This is my apology. You won’t accept it, so I’m giving it to myself. I have to shut that door, do you understand me? You’re still angry, Al, I get that, but that’s not under my control anymore. It hasn’t been for ages. I haven’t made peace with _myself_ over what happened six years ago. Do you know what it’s like to not be able to forgive yourself for a fucking mistake?”

Albus’ jaw worked but he remained silent. Harry felt like he’d been kicked. Thus far, he’d managed not to swear at his son, no matter what else humped up between them. It was like all the muscles were tired and giving way, and he was grasping at the only things he’d not tried, hoping they’d have some effect where the rest had not.

“I don’t think amends are even on the menu anymore,” he said, and found himself looking at his hands. “It’s too old. Too much damage done. But I can learn from it, not make the same mistakes. Be me again, not that… idiot who sat there and let himself get shoved into a corner for the first time in, in his entire _life,_ for Godric’s sake— I know it’s not a fix. But it’s honest, and if I can’t be that again… Well, there’s no point in bothering.”

For a long moment, Harry could hear the rain sheeting against the sides of the house, hammering at the windows. Albus shifted weight and Harry looked up, an ember of hope— But Albus’ face was tight.

“They won’t care,” he muttered. “They’ll just use the new weapons you think you’ve found and turn them on you anyway. It’s what they do.”

“Then that’s not on me,” Harry stated. “This time, I can say it’s not my doing.”

Albus shook his head. The corner of his mouth jerked flat. He turned and left the room. Slammed the door again on his way out into the storm.

**

Even now, Harry had trouble dealing with what he considered his most injurious failure. 

Because he couldn’t fix six years. He couldn’t erase those scars, on himself or Draco, on Ginny or the kids or anyone else who’d got sideswiped. His own wounds had finally built up enough extraneous tissue on which to build things, and though they still ached— one of them ached so badly it was a breathless throb that woke him alone in his bed in the middle of the night, still clutching at the empty space beside him— he could feel that the new foundation was steady again.

He’d survived the Dursleys, survived Voldemort. His divorce, his newfound sexual reality, announcing that reality to the world, the public battering ram that resulted, and then, _then_ the press had proceeded to twist that knife in his gut, twist it and twist it, and… he’d lost his hold. No, he’d handed it right over because he was weak. For some damn reason, he’d given them all the power.

At the time, it had felt like too much to carry, the final knell that bowled him down and held him there. Now, Harry couldn’t see how it had been bad enough that he’d given in. He’d survived the damn Wizarding press for almost four decades, only to surrender and let them determine what he did with his own fucking life and, most horrible of all, who he loved.

Despite his new aims, Harry lay in bed late at night and thought he’d never truly be able to forgive himself for that.

**

For a second when the door opened, Draco looked hunted. “Harry.”

“You haven’t eaten, have you.”

Draco’s jaw twitched near the joint. He stepped back without speaking, a shuffle of bare feet over the rug, and held the door wider.

Harry took his bag by Draco into the hall, and from there beyond the slender staircase toward the kitchen. The two rooms he passed— sitting room and dining room— were dark and silent, but the light hanging over the kitchen table beamed warm and yellow, illuminating the parchment in haphazard stacks across the table’s surface. On the top of the cooker, the kettle steamed gently, and Harry could smell bergamot.

He went to the worktop and unloaded containers: lasagna still hot from the spell Molly Weasley had cast upon it, green beans in garlic, fresh-baked bread. He got plates down from a cupboard he still knew well, and glasses which he filled with ice water. He served up portions, fished around in a drawer for cutlery, and grabbed two napkins from the folded stack next to the sink. 

When he turned around, laden down with food and drink, Draco stood still in the doorway, the relative darkness of the hallway behind him. The only sign that he’d not been there the entire time was the space now cleared of paperwork, the nearer half of the table. Harry set their plates down and nodded Draco into one of the chairs.

After a moment, Draco crossed the room and sat down. The house’s automated heating spells kicked on, filling the air with a soft rush. Harry took his seat, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows.

“Eight o’clock already,” he admonished, and blew on the first forkful of lasagna.

Draco lifted his fork from the table as slowly as he’d done everything else. His gaze remained careful, fixed on Harry.

Then he sighed and took a bite, and it was as if the world sped back into motion. “Have a lot to do.”

Harry nodded. Swallowed. “Here.” He set the butter dish near Draco’s elbow and passed him a knife.

Draco buttered a slice of bread, took another bite of lasagna, and looked down at the fork in his hand. “Did you make this?”

“Molly did.”

Draco’s nod was thoughtful. “It’s delicious.”

They ate and drank in silence, and after a while, Harry could see Draco’s thoughts creeping back toward the papers across the table. His work habits were still the same; it wasn’t the first time Harry had called a halt like this. 

Though it had been a long time since he’d had the right. Strangely, that didn’t worry him tonight.

“Want to talk it through?” He reached across the table and nudged the topmost parchment, filled with Draco’s spiky scrawl.

Draco shrugged and poked some green beans onto his fork. “It’s a possible closing statement. No sense in finalizing at this point.”

Harry waited until Draco’s hand stilled and he looked up. “The offer stands.”

Draco’s jaw worked mechanically as he chewed, and Harry thought he would turn him down.

But Draco just wiped his fingers on his napkin, reached out and pulled the parchment closer to his plate. Cleared his throat and began to read.

**

“James! James, are you confident in your chances of coming out on top during this trial?”

“James, how do you feel about the statements made by the Forester family regarding your competency in the line of duty?” 

Harry got between his child and their assailants in the only way he still could, by drawing their attention. “My son has no comment at this time, thank you.”

“Head Auror Potter, how does Albus Severus feel about the trial? Have the two of you reconciled?”

“Was the appointment of your son’s councillor a joint decision with anyone else?”

“Does the former Mrs Potter approve?” 

“Auror Potter, are you are renewing your relationship with Draco Malfoy?”

Harry didn’t even turn this time, just ushered James through into the Ministry and closed the doors on them all.

They were alone in the elevators when James’ shoulders hunched, a violent shiver. “Dad, I’m—”

“James?” He waited till his son met his eyes. “You have bigger things on your plate. Alright? Let me handle all that.”

James nodded and faced forward again. But he did attempt to straighten up, Harry noticed. It made him proud.

**

Draco’s photograph took up the entire top half of the Prophet’s front page. Harry’s embargo hadn’t stood a chance, and now he sat with a copy laid out in front of him on his dining room table.

Below the photo: _DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS SON OF FORMER LOVER._ As if that were breaking news.

Draco stood in the front atrium of the Ministry of Magic, not too far from the lifts. He was in black with silver trim, the collar of his dress coat framing his throat in a fragile vee. The lighting cut incisively at his cheekbones and accentuated the point of his chin. His brows rose just a touch and his lips parted. Then came together again around a silent sigh. Harry lingered on the narrowing of Draco’s eyes, a response to some question of which no one would ever know the content. And the corners of Draco’s lips twitched upward into a very brief smile that never got near those grey eyes. His gaze locked onto the photographer for the length of a heartbeat, then skipped past, lashes lowering as he turned his profile into view. The photo reverted, began again.

Harry touched his fingers to Draco’s forehead, let them drift down Draco’s cheek and over the curve of his shoulder as he turned his head aside.

**

The wizard to Morag’s right was all whites to her darkness: snowy hair and bushy brows, skin so wan it looked bloodless. Very old, with sharp, pale eyes. He drummed gnarled fingers with deliberation on the top of the gallery’s wooden barrier. “It has been brought to the Wizengamot’s attention that James Potter was hired as an Auror specifically for his ability to perform wandless magic.”

Harry sucked in a breath and leaned forward before he could think about it. But no cameras flashed. The press box inhabitants were focused on the front of the courtroom. Standing to the side of James’ chair, Draco lifted his chin. 

“He has that capability, yes. However, not to the degree of being licensed, nor is he legally allowed to use those skills while in the performance of his duties.”

Morag’s compatriot ignored Draco, instead focusing on James. “But you do have the ability, Auror Potter.”

The courtroom murmured, restless. Harry prepared for the only thing that could come from such a question. Up in front, Draco remained still, head turned slightly in deference to James. James cleared his throat. 

“Yes, sir. I…” He started to glance around, but stopped himself. “I learned from my father.”

“And when did this instruction begin?”

“When I was ten years old, sir.”

“By all accounts, your father is a competent practitioner and instructor, is he not?”

The murmuring grew louder. Harry stared straight at the back of James’ head, willing him to— he didn’t even know. His mind was slowly blanking of all except the surfacing horror.

“Head Auror Potter’s competency is not in question, nor is it the subject of this trial,” Draco said calmly, but his tells were ticking, Harry could see it even if no one else had the proper knowledge of Draco’s body to discern it.

“But it does speak to his son’s ability to perform an array of additional enchantments.” The elder wizard leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. “To be hired specifically for such skills requires a certain level of expertise, Auror Potter. Your records indicate more than mere competency; they show a particular aptitude for such magic.”

“Yes, sir.” James’ voice was hoarse. 

“So you had an entirely separate repertoire of spells at your command in addition to the one you chose to use, indeed, numerous options other than those of your coworkers.”

James’ mouth opened, but Draco motioned him silent with a jerk of a single finger. “Madam Chief. Sir. Regardless of James Potter’s aptitude, the fact remains that he is not licensed to use such magic while in performance of his duties on behalf of the Ministry of Law Enforcement.”

Hermione’s fingers were pale where she gripped her armrests. “Oh, no, no, no, no,” she muttered, too low for anyone but Harry to hear. 

“And yet,” the elder wizard continued, “the argument has been made that given the situation at hand, it was his duty to use everything within his scope to protect the individuals in danger.”

The corner was there, and James was going to be backed into it no matter what Draco did now. The worst was the knowledge that Draco’d had no other choice but to respond as he had done, and the Wizengamot was well aware. Harry looked to his left, down the row where the Foresters sat. Mrs Forester’s face was still, but her eyes glittered, a hideous sort of life that squeezed fiercely at Harry’s stomach.

“You would have an Auror work outside the legal boundaries set forth by your own laws?” Draco asked, and several of the Wizengamot panel whispered back and forth. Morag’s gaze was fixed upon Draco.

“If the need is dire enough,” said her counterpart, “there is precedent to enforce such a response, regardless of established laws.”

Draco stood momentarily silent. From his angle, Harry could see that his eyes had gone slightly unfocused, his attention no longer just in this courtroom, but in the wider sphere of his own mind. The elder wizard’s eyes slitted, a worrisome smugness, and he opened his mouth. 

“Ladies,” Draco interrupted, just before the sound came forth. “Gentlemen. I request a recess to confer with my client.”

Morag straightened a little, then nodded. She banged her gavel down once. “Councillor Malfoy, you have one hour.”

Draco touched James’ shoulder, spoke low into his ear, then turned and headed out of the courtroom. James got up and followed, giving Harry a sickly glance. Draco did not look Harry’s way at all.

**

“They can’t possibly allow that,” Hugo hissed, clearly attempting to keep his voice down. “It’s… He’s not permitted to use those spells, and yet he _has_ to? He’s damned either way!”

“That’s the point, I’m sure,” Fleur said softly. She looked unspeakably sad.

“How did they find out?” Harry ground out. He pressed at his temple with the heel of one hand, trying to force back the headache building there. “That is privileged information, Auror-trainee confidentiality.”

“Could the Wizengamot have put an injunction on that, too?” Rose asked, but Ron shook his head. His eyes roamed over the room, on the lookout for people and reporters who might be straying too close to their group.

“They would have had to announce it in court. And I’d know about it, that type of request takes paperwork, it would at least have had to go through Shacklebolt. No, this had to have been offered up, someone in the department.”

“Who would do that?” Hermione demanded, but Harry was already shaking his head, cursing.

“Saville,” he exhaled, and felt Ron tense beside him. His headache burst free of its restraints and Harry swayed. “Shit.”

Everyone was silent for far too long, staring anywhere but at each other. Except Hermione, who was looking at Harry.

“Does Malfoy have time to figure out a way to fix this?” she finally asked, to no one in particular.

Harry turned away and walked out of the chamber, heading for street level. He needed air.

**

“Councillor Malfoy,” Morag said. “Are you prepared to continue?”

“Madam Chief,” Draco said, far too calmly for Harry’s nerves, “the defense calls Auror Robert Saville to testify.”

Hermione made a sound to Harry’s left, and Harry sat forward in his chair again. The Wizengamot muttered, but Morag raised a hand. “Councillor, please provide us with Auror Robert Saville’s connection to the proceedings.”

“He is the head of the trainee Auror program. His professional opinion is directly applicable to James Sirius Potter’s competency in the field.”

The elder wizard rolled his stooped shoulders, but it was Morag who once again made the executive decision. “Agreed. Auror Robert Saville is summoned by the Wizengamot to appear in this courtroom tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”

“What is he doing?” Hermione hissed. Her hand clamped around Harry’s wrist, but the subsequent bang of the gavel and the rise in noise as court was concluded for the evening covered her frustration. “Is he… He’s stalling for time? He calls Saville in, he’ll just be allowing him to expound upon what he said about James, only this time it’ll be on record!”

Harry stared at Draco’s profile as he knelt by James’ chair and spoke to him. James said something back, and Draco nodded. Squeezed his arm and gave him a small smile.

“It’s fine,” Harry said.

“Harry—”

He rose without response and began edging his way out of the row. At the end, Ginny waited, hands clenched at her sides. Albus hovered a ways behind her, well within hearing distance. Harry caught his eye, losing the battle with the need for some sort of connection, but Albus looked away.

“Harry.” Ginny took his arm and led him further out of the way of the people trooping through the courtroom. “This… Is Malfoy…?”

“He knows what he’s doing, Gin.”

She nodded as if she were exasperated. “I know that, but what _is_ he doing?”

Harry’s eyes found Draco again, still knelt by James’ chair, now listening intently. He opened his mouth to respond to Ginny at the exact instant that Draco’s eyes flicked over and caught his.

Held, for the barest moment.

“I don’t know,” Harry said to Ginny, and her shoulder jumped up, the exhalation audible as if pressed from her body.

“But he’s, James will be—”

“Gin?” He waited until she looked at him fully. Touched her arm, the briefest brush near her wrist. “It’ll be alright.”

Though bollocks if he knew how.

Her mouth opened, then shut again. She nodded, hesitant. “Okay.” She sighed, and he caught every inch of desperation in her eyes. “Okay.”

Harry looked back to Draco, but bodies had moved between them and Harry could no longer see him or James.

**

He sat in front of his hearth as the evening hours stretched late, hand twitching toward the bowl of Floo powder. Outside, the wind howled along the eaves and twice, Harry lit the fire and opened his mouth, Draco’s address on his tongue.

Twice he put the fire out and settled back. And waited.

**

“Please state your name and occupation for the Wizengamot.”

“Robert Saville, Auror with the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

James now sat in one of two chairs before the Wizengamot, hands white around the armrests. Saville reclined in the second chair, his demeanor as different as if he were on holiday. Draco passed between them, glancing once at Morag for permission to continue. Morag nodded crisply.

“Auror Saville, how long have you been employed by the Ministry?” Draco asked.

“Seventeen years.”

“A lifelong career, then, by choice, I take it?”

“Absolutely.” Saville’s eyes followed Draco as he walked.

“Six years ago, you were considered for appointment to Head Auror, correct? The position currently held by Harry Potter?”

Saville frowned. Up in the gallery, the elderly wizard at Morag’s side leaned forward.

“Councillor, that appears to have little to do with this case.”

“I feel it speaks to motivation, Sir,” Draco said.

Morag lifted a hand and the elder wizard fell silent. “Proceed.”

Draco repeated the question and Saville nodded grudgingly. “Yes. I was considered.”

Harry waited for Draco to expound upon the fact that he’d not actually been appointed, but Draco changed subjects instead.

“Since that time, you have been the head of the recruitment division for the Auror Department?”

“I have.” Saville pulled his shoulders back, a move that seemed to increase his stature. “For all of those six years.”

Draco nodded, giving Saville a smile. “During which time you’ve received numerous accolades for your dedication and personal involvement with the development of the trainees.”

Saville’s frame relaxed minutely. He returned Draco’s smile. “Yes, I have.”

“My congratulations, Auror Saville. I, for one, have seen your record, and I feel safer for it.”

Saville nodded like a royal bestowing favor, and Harry grimaced at the turn of the man’s mouth.

“You are involved extensively in the selection and recruitment of each incoming Auror, correct?”

“I personally see to the induction and initial training sessions of all of them, yes.”

Draco nodded and gestured with one hand. “Please, give us your professional opinion of Auror James Sirius Potter.”

“My professional opinion,” Saville repeated slowly. He’d raised his eyebrow at Draco, plainly disbelieving.

“Yes.”

Harry could practically taste Hermione’s scowl, but she remained quiet. Others in the audience, not so much. A few of the press even smirked, readying their quills for Draco’s inevitable downfall by his own hand. A perfect headline for the one who could get it out in print first. Harry’s throat felt blocked up and he swallowed it down. Clenched his jaw and tried not to think overly much.

“He’s talented,” Saville said readily. “Very skilled. He picks things up extremely quickly and has an aptitude for all brands of magic.”

“Please be as specific as possible.”

Saville laughed a little and raised both hands. “I could go on for a while on that thread, Councillor.”

Draco nodded, looking abashed. His chin dipped as if he were thinking. “Alright. Why exactly was he selected for the position of Auror trainee?”

“That… was right before my time as head of department,” Saville hedged, then grew bold again. “But I can tell you that I fast-tracked him because of his speed in spell-casting and curse-breaking. Most prominently because of his affinity for wandless magic.”

“Ah,” Draco said, the slightest wince showing around his eyes. He opened his mouth, then shut it and pursed his lips. Harry closed his eyes briefly as quills scratched overhead. In his chair, Saville smirked a little.

“So you presided over his training?” Draco asked, a question clearly meant to stall, to give him time to recover, and Harry’s stomach twisted further.

“I was James Potter’s individual instructor. I still oversee his quarterly evaluations.”

“And he has in-depth knowledge of wandless magic?” Draco’s expression was a little sour.

Saville outright grinned. “He does. His father is, apparently, an excellent teacher himself.”

That brought everyone’s eye to Harry, including Draco’s. Harry fought against the instinct to shrink, to fold his shoulders down and himself away, as if he were still a child crawling out of a cupboard. He sought Draco’s eyes as the only pair he could face, steady himself in, and… there was something there—

“Can you describe your training sessions?” Draco asked, turning to Saville again with a visibly tight jaw. Up in the gallery, Morag was frowning. “How did you determine that James Potter had such skill?”

“He showed me. Right up front. It was part of his application skills set. And he’s been working on his technique steadily ever since.”

“But wandless magic is incredibly difficult. The most difficult type of enchantment, is it not?” It was not Harry’s imagination that Draco’s voice had gone strained, a lilt of begging in it. Yet he could not get that flash of grey out of his head, and as Hermione’s hand tightened again on his wrist, Harry held his breath.

“It most certainly is. Anyone with such skill is highly prized in the department.” Saville turned in his chair and took a visual sweep of the courtroom, meeting the gazes of several in the Wizengamot and more than a few of the audience. “Our goal has always been to hone his skill, and that of newcomers with the same gift. I kept close tabs on James Potter all the way from training to his entry into the field, and after.”

“Including his recent monthly evaluations?”

“Especially those.”

“Then you wouldn’t be averse to describing his most recent evaluation, that of one month ago, in August?” Draco turned his head calmly to meet Saville’s eyes, and for the first time, Saville’s smile faltered.

“I… His August evaluation?”

“In detail, please.”

Saville licked his lips. Glanced at James and then back at Draco. James was sitting up in his chair, eyes wide where before they had been downcast. They skittered toward Draco, then to Harry where he sat, and Harry saw the brittle gleam of hope.

“Well, he… He passed with flying colours.”

“Specifically,” Draco said. “His curse-breaking?”

“Above average.”

“And advanced spell-casting? His Patronus, his shielding charms, his dueling skills.”

“All above average.”

“His wandless?”

“Well above average,” Saville gritted out.

“Please don’t mince words,” Draco said, almost a retort. “Define ‘above average’ for wandless magic in the Auror training program.”

Saville’s throat moved as he swallowed. He glared at Draco. “Being able to perform more than five wandless spells with an eighty percent achievement rate is considered above average.”

“The timing, Auror Saville.” Draco snapped his fingers twice. “Is there a limitation to how quickly the spells must manifest in order to make that cut?”

The words were barely discernible, Saville was clenching his jaw so tightly. “No. Sir.”

“And how much time passed, on average, between James Potter’s initial wandless casting and the manifestation of each spell?”

Saville remained silent. Draco’s brows shot up.

“Auror Saville? James Potter’s fastest recorded time for, say, a wandless absorption enchantment?”

Saville’s scowl could have sliced through rock. He turned it on James as he answered between his teeth. “Four seconds.”

“And a simple wandless shielding spell?”

Again—“Four seconds.”

“Four seconds.” Only then did Draco turn to the Wizengamot. “Entirely too long an interval in which to deflect a neurological hex with any degree of effectiveness.” He glanced back at Saville where he sat, for all the world as if Saville were a troublesome insect whose buzzing had caught his attention. “All recorded in the exemplary records of the Ministry, no doubt. Auror Saville, you were aware of these statistics when you offered up information concerning James Potter’s wandless abilities, were you not?”

Saville nodded, a hard jerk.

“So what _possible_ cause could you have for revealing the technical shortcomings of the current Head Auror’s son in this fashion?”

It was a throwaway comment, one immediately slapped down with an objection from the gallery. But Morag had it, that much was visible in the tight line of her mouth and the way her brows had lowered. She glowered stonily at the man in the testimonial chair, and he dropped his eyes. Eventually she picked up her gavel and slammed it down for silence.

“Auror Saville.” Morag’s tone was icy. “I do not appreciate this courtroom being used as an avenue for settling personal vendettas. Consider yourself officially reprimanded and on temporary suspension, and be glad that’s all it is. We will be re-evaluating your fitness for your position.”

She stood and braced her hands on the railing before her. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, we will retire for a recess to discuss the implications of the testimony provided in the course of this case, and reconvene tomorrow.”

She banged the gavel again and voices erupted, exclamations and even laughter. James got up shakily from his chair, looking as if he had forgotten he knew how to smile. Next to Harry, Hermione gave a triumphant laugh and squeezed his arm one last time, but across the sea of people, Harry stared at Draco, and Draco looked right back, unwavering.

**

When Draco’s door opened this time, Harry’s lungs felt half the size they usually were, as if his they were constantly hitting up against his ribs when he inhaled. Draco’s eyes skirted over him, but he said nothing, just left the door and backed up. Harry closed it after him and followed Draco into the kitchen. He set his bag of food down in silence and paused there for a moment, staring at the worktop with its flecks of gold in black. 

Finally he turned around. Draco stood to the side, watchful, and shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other. The hanging light, the shadows, made him look jumpy, on the edge of more movement.

Leaving the bag with his dinner offering alone, Harry sat down at the table, and after a second or two, Draco joined him, scraping his chair as he pulled it out. A mug of tea stood beside Draco’s rolls of parchment and stacks of papers; it steamed lightly, cooling from its initial heat. Harry eyed it, then nudged it aside.

For a while, Draco made notes to documents with far too much fine print on them, then picked up the draft of his closing statement and skimmed down it. He wrote in the margins, hashed lines through text here and there. The flicker of his eyes and the scritch of the quill caught on Harry’s nerve endings as if he were skinned raw, the flesh lifted away to expose each stretching sensor.

“Will he have anything to worry about?” Harry asked at last, and watched the way the edges of Draco’s mouth moved as he edited.

“He shouldn’t.” Draco frowned slightly and axed an entire paragraph. He set the quill down with a sudden sigh and rubbed at his eyebrow. But he looked content, if weary. He gestured at the draft. “I don’t even need this, not really.”

“It’s a good speech,” Harry ventured, and the ends of Draco’s lips flickered upward. He looked over at Harry, then shook his head.

“Just be glad it’s done.”

“I am,” Harry said. A beat, and Draco nodded. His hair was loose, just brushing at his shoulders, and Harry could see the tracks of his fingers through it near his ear. Even as he watched, Draco’s hand lifted, brushed it back, carved fleeting runnels through it.

Harry couldn’t draw his eyes away, didn’t even try. Just let them rove, up and down over features he knew so well, and also, suddenly, not at all. “You were incredible.”

Draco’s throat pinked, but that was all. He shifted, leaning on both elbows, then settling one hand almost deliberately on the tabletop, placing each finger as if he were giving the repercussions thought.

“Do you even realize?” Harry asked, so much to himself that Draco’s head turned minutely in his direction.

Something old and worn out shivered in Draco’s smile. “Well. You wouldn’t have hired me otherwise.”

Yes. He would have. Harry just shook his head faintly, wondering at discrepancies, at gaping holes he was only just beginning to sense. Draco was still so, so good at hiding things, and Harry had once, very memorably, been the world’s greatest fool.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he murmured, a revelation to himself as well as to Draco. His voice cracked unexpectedly. Harry’s lungs cinched tighter— Draco inhaled— and Harry couldn’t, Godric, he couldn’t _breathe,_.

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to,” he managed, and was surprised.

Draco’s eyes dropped to the tabletop where his hand rested. His lips parted, but for a long second, nothing came out. “I have a confession, Harry. I’m not doing it for him.”

Harry released the held breath as if lifting a massive stone from his back. “Draco, I know who you’re doing it for.”

Draco met his eyes. “Harry—” His entire body moved, a stilted jerk. Then he reached across the space between them, slid a shaking hand around Harry’s nape, and pulled him forward. Met him openmouthed.

Draco kissed him like he’d broken, each press a tremble, each a lingering, desperate clutch at Harry’s lips as if Draco were afraid to let any part of that touch go. He tasted of tea and a brief burst of sugar at the corner of his mouth, of heat and a shattering somewhere deep, and when he pulled back, it was sudden, an audible huff. His chin dropped to his chest.

“I’m sorry. Harry, I’m.” His hand had yet to move from Harry’s neck, and there his fingers pressed almost too tightly.

“Come, come here,” Harry breathed, “Draco, don’t—”

He nosed forward, coaxed Draco’s head up and found his eyes closed, a pained tightness marring every inch of his face. Each breath shuddered in and out, as if Draco were tilting on the edge of some chasm. Harry set his thumbs on Draco’s cheeks and stroked his skin, angled his head gently, and kissed him again.

Draco made a single sound and his mouth opened; he juddered forward. Harry caught his wrist and drew him in, shoving the table away with one foot. He got an arm round the small of Draco’s back and pulled him until Draco had to straddle his legs either side of Harry’s, sinking down into his lap with their stomachs pressed close. Fingers tightened in Harry’s hair.

Draco let out a sharp breath over Harry’s lips, then his hand left the back of Harry’s head and shot down to his trousers, fingers curling along the waistline as Harry kissed his mouth open, merciless, more tongue and teeth than care. Draco’s other hand joined the first and he worked Harry’s fly open, lifting his body a little clear and breaking the kiss to look down. Harry tugged his chin up and attacked his mouth again, half of Draco’s name making it out into the heated silence of the room. He pulled at Draco’s shirt collar, thumbing buttons open in jagged little hitches and then abandoning it, yanking at his trousers instead. 

Draco’s hiss drew Harry up, the hand down the front of Harry’s pants so fucking _familiar_ against him, going right to where he was most sensitive in all the thoroughly explored ways Harry’d rarely got with any other partner. He jerked to his feet, a surge that made Draco’s fingers snap sharply round his hip, a breath too quickly indrawn. Harry got a grip under Draco’s thighs and hitched him close, the strain in his arms fierce and delicious and almost habitual in the way it coursed through him. Draco met his eyes briefly, and they were hooded and focussed, overwrought. Harry walked him through the door to the sitting room, made it to the couch in more of a tangle than any semblance of a plan, and fell back onto it, Draco landing hard in his lap again and curling over him, rising onto his knees, thrusting against his belly and _kissing_ him as if he wanted to crawl inside him, biting at his mouth and laving inside. Harry got his hands down the back of Draco’s trousers and shoved them down, worked them over Draco’s hips until Draco cursed into his mouth and fumbled until he found Harry’s left wrist. He drew it up, locked their fingers together, released Harry’s mouth just long enough for Harry to gasp a series of words that came back to him as easily as breathing—

When Draco drove down again, it was skin to skin and Harry’s back bowed almost painfully at the sensation, at the taste, the sweat stinging at his mouth and Draco’s bare body against him after so damn long. He kissed Draco’s throat, clamping light with his teeth and tonguing the spot after, breathing over it because he suddenly couldn’t do anything else. Draco’s fingers curled around the back of his head and held him there as they thrust together, and then one hand slid flat-palmed all the way down his spine, catching on skin and slipping through sweat and _pressing,_ oh god, and then— curling low between his arse and the couch cushion and squeezing. Harry got his hands under Draco’s arms and urged Draco’s torso back, angled the rest of him close, and locked his gaze as they moved, all finesse gone, just motion and motion and _motion,_ the pivot of Draco’s hips on the down stroke and Harry’s sharp exhalations on the up, and then Draco caught Harry’s face in both hands and bowed his forehead to Harry’s temple and lipped the side of his mouth, and Harry was done, just— He arched, felt like every single muscle was about to cramp, and came pressed up tight to Draco’s stomach, feeling each shuddering heave set him off in little tendrils that rippled out endlessly until Harry could barely breathe.

He slumped back into the couch, squeezing Draco’s ribs too tight, and Draco’s body shook in his grasp, toes clenching against the outsides of Harry’s knees. Harry got the best grip his jittery limbs would allow and turned them, dropped Draco onto his back across the length of the couch and crawled atop him, basking in the ragged moan the movement forced out of Draco’s lungs. He sucked a kiss from Draco’s parted lips and sank down, first taking him in hand, then changing his mind and swallowing him instead, until Draco’s hips jolted up hard against his face, twice, thrice, and he came over Harry’s tongue and down his throat. 

Draco was still twitching when Harry slunk back up, sliding flat over him chest to chest. Draco’s body rose as he heaved a deep, desperate gasp. When Harry took his mouth this time, it was gentle, careful, and drew a sound from Draco that broke Harry’s heart, a little.

** 

“The Wizengamot has reached a verdict. James Potter, please stand.”

James rose to his feet more steadily than expected and Draco stepped up to wait at his side. Morag’s eyes landed on one and then the other before she continued.

“James Sirius Potter is absolved from any wrongdoing in the events heretofore investigated, and has acted both in accordance with his training, and within the boundaries of Wizarding law. There will be no penalty meted out, and Auror Potter is to return to his duties at the earliest possible convenience. This court stands adjourned.”

Even with his newfound calm, James’ frame slumped double as the gavel smacked down. He swayed and Draco caught him, one arm round his shoulders until he found his balance again. In the audience, Harry stood up, listening with half an ear to Hermione’s very vocal congratulations and Ginny’s relief. Above, the quills scratched and cameras clicked, catching Draco in his ash robes with slate trim, James with the first real smile Harry had seen in weeks. Harry could feel the lenses aimed his way, but couldn’t bring himself to rise to it or against it. His heart thrummed steady and vital in his chest as he gazed at his eldest son, just took it all in and felt the relief finally flood through. Begin to wash all the rest away.

**

Entering Draco’s house again that evening was silent. Draco took Harry’s wrist in a gentle grip and turned from the door, guided him down the hall to his bedroom and the black and white sheets Harry remembered.

** 

“Are you alright?” Draco’s voice was subdued.

Harry stroked his thumb up the outside of Draco’s arm, down again, up. Draco’s hair lay soft and sweaty over his shoulder, and he could feel the slide of each breath across the skin of his throat. “Yes,” he said.

Draco’s fingers sifted through the displaced hairs over Harry’s ear. Smoothed them back and lingered. Harry pictured salt-grey strands curling beneath Draco’s pale skin.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered, strained through the tension in his throat. He hugged Draco closer, dragged one of Draco’s legs over with the edge of his heel until their feet were tangled. “I’m not doing that again.”

There was no response, and Harry turned his head until he could see the fall of Draco’s fringe, the drying beads of sweat just under his hairline. “Listen to me. I’ve never been more wrong in my life than I was then. I refuse to be that person again. He makes me hate the world. You are far more important than any of it.” 

“What are you saying?” Neutral.

“The world will do what it does. I’m not going anywhere.”

He could hear Draco mulling it over. “The press?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry shook his head. “It never did. I was just too stupid to see that.”

Draco shifted up onto his elbow and his other hand slipped down to cradle Harry’s jaw. “You weren’t.” Harry shut his eyes and Draco exhaled, long and resigned. “You were at the end of your rope, Harry. I could see it. Everyone could see it.”

Harry shook his head. Old echoes of sickness pawed at his gut. “Should never have hurt you.”

“As if I didn’t say things I shouldn’t have,” Draco whispered, sounding lost.

Harry tightened his hold on Draco and after a moment, Draco dropped his head back onto Harry’s shoulder. The heat of his body pushed away the relative chill of the room, and Harry sorted through his words. Knew he could sort for years and never find quite the right way to express this.

“Draco, you’re everything.” It choked, came out halfway between a laugh and a breath. “I cannot describe what I’m feeling right now. A whole lot of pain. More relief, that you’ll even— I don’t want this, what we’ve been playing at, I don’t care about the press, or what other people say. I’m done being someone else’s person. The me I know, the me I _want_ to know, loved you with everything he is. Loves you. So much I can’t breathe, sometimes it feels like my blood won’t pump. I have no idea how to ask this of you after what I’ve done.”

“Ask,” Draco said, simply. Just one word. Harry swallowed, and felt Draco’s fingers glide over his throat. 

“I mean forever, Draco. If you’ll still have me.”

“Harry,” Draco said softly, “you’ve had me for a long while now.” 

Harry turned and kissed him, deep and sweet and still wounded, and didn’t let go.

…

 

_Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. ~Plato_

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the above quote by Plato.


End file.
